Page 239 of Dragon Slayer

42

THE FOREST OF THE IMPALED

Vlad stood at the main gate of Tîrgoviste, staring down the road that led to the southeast, heat mirages shivering above the packed brown dirt. Late summer, and a dry spell. Sweat rolled unheeded down his temples, and down his torso, gluing his clothes to his skin. Though they’d harried, and sickened, and killed, and fought to the last, Vlad’s army was a ruin, and Mehmet was still coming.

Behind him, the city hunkered down and prepared for invasion. He heard common folk shouting to one another, fastening shutters, gathering children. A baby cried. Many were hitching carts and wagons to horses and mules, preparing to head deeper into the hills, to caves and monasteries, where they might seek shelter from the Ottoman monolith that couldn’t be stopped.

He couldn’t explain it, but Vlad still didn’t feel that he’d failed, even though something close to panic tightened his throat.Patience, he thought, and glanced down at the ring on his hand. His father’s. The sign of the Dragon Order.

Poor Father. He’d tried. He’d wanted to be a good prince, to protect his people, and his family.

No, a voice whispered in the back of Vlad’s mind, one fraught with rage and childhood pain.He didn’t try to get you back. He didn’t care about you.

Father had tried. But trying didn’t count for much when you were dead in the ground. When your heir was buried alive. When your enemy raped your youngest, your baby, and turned him into a sad puppet.

Tryingwould not slay a dragon.

Beside him, voice soft, hesitant, Cicero said, “What are you thinking?”

When Vlad turned his head to look at his wolf, he found Cicero staring levelly at him, with his good eye, full of faith, and affection, and unwavering loyalty.

“I’m thinking that no one has ever had such a loyal Familiar. Thank you, old friend, for everything.”

Cicero’s brows lifted, and his mouth opened on a sound of surprise. “Vlad.”Don’t say goodbye, his face silently pleaded.Don’t say we’re finished.

“Go and see if you can find me some woodsmen,” Vlad said. “We need to fell some trees. A great many trees.”

~*~

Mehmet sent a Familiar, first.

A scout spotted a small party, only three. An old man, the boy said. With a beard, and strange clothes.

Fen had described him already, after the night raid; he’d carried the red flecks of burns across his cheeks and nose for days before they’d finally healed, and complained of blurry eyesight. Even his great red brows had been singed. “An unimpressive fellow. Gray-bearded and slight. I’d know him again in an instant.”

The boy described him as such, and when Vlad glanced over at Fenrir, he found his eyes big, and going glassy with the urge to shift.

“You think it’s him?”

“Yes.” More a growl than a word.

Vlad stood, and called for his armor.

He took Cicero, Fenrir, and Malik with him, though his troops, those still standing and mostly whole after these brutal months of campaign, asked to come. But no. He would not take a company to do a job he could do himself.

“Stay here. Guard the city.”

Cicero fretted. “Last time…” he said, face pained, remembering the mage that Romulus had sent during Vlad’s first, failed attempt at rulership. When the wolves had frozen, minds going blank, as the mage had forced her way into their minds, and tampered with their free will.

Vlad cupped the side of his neck. “I won’t make you come with me. But Iwillprotect you from him. I promise.”

Cicero closed his eyes, ashamed, and whimpered softly in the back of his throat, an injured sound. “I’m the Familiar.I’msupposed to protectyou.”

Vlad leaned in, and pressed their foreheads together. “We protect each other.”

Cicero tried to protest again.

“I’m not your master,” Vlad said. “We’re pack, and when one member stumbles, the others pick up the slack. I have you,” he swore. “I have you.”

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